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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202276">Talk Bread To Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fixy/pseuds/Fixy'>Fixy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Soft [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable Girlfriends, Baking, Bread fetish??, Cake, Domestic, F/F, Fluff, Happy birthday Yotoob!!!!, TASTY TASTY, Wholesome, and happy birthday Irina?, no I’m serious I’ve never written anything so darn fluffy, nutritious, soft, this is a SOFT fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:07:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fixy/pseuds/Fixy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am ready to admit,” Villanelle says just above a whisper, “that I may have a baking fetish, yes.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Soft [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1519097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>460</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Talk Bread To Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotoob/gifts">yotoob</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday Cat aka Yotoob! Thanks for being such a great pal over the last... seven years?? Jesus. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy bread.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is icing in her hair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, that is a bad place to start.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It starts with a scream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Argh!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah! What! What is it?!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve clutches at her chest as her heart starts to slow from its thunderous rhythm. She hadn’t expected to walk through her door after a day of work to find Villanelle, standing in her hallway. Literally just… standing there, a metre from the front door, just… standing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve’s scream had startled the blonde who was now frantically looking around and looking at Eve, checking her over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Villanelle,” Eve groans, “what are you doing here? And why are you just hovering in my hallway like some kind of… watchful stone gargoyle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle stops fretting and scrunches her nose in a grimace.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am much prettier than a gargoyle, that is rude.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, fine, but you’re being creepy, why are you being creepy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not being creepy!” Villanelle insists, eyes wide, “I was waiting for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In my hall?” Eve asks incredulously. “Mere feet from my door? Doing nothing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” the blonde shrugs, “I thought you would be mad if you walked in and found me using your things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve purses her lips for a moment then closes the still open door behind her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay… okay that’s… thoughtful, actually, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The single nod from Villanelle has Eve smiling a little, fright over and chest no longer aching with shock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How was your day?” Villanelle asks politely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, let’s leave the hallway though, this is weird.” Eve says, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag. She slides her coat off and hangs it, smiling wider as she notices Villanelle bounce on her heels slightly. “What’s got you so excited?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is just nice to see you.” Villanelle replies, turning on her heel and heading through to the kitchen. “It has been nine days since I saw you last, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve knows. She counts the days.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm,” Eve hums, “not since Christmas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, they’d spent Christmas together. Villanelle had appeared, as she does, wearing all red and with a startlingly realistic white beard stuck to her face. Eve had had to quite literally tear the damn thing off Villanelle’s chin when the blonde realised she couldn’t get it off without the proper adhesive remover, which had resulted in fierce Russian cursing that only a mince pie shoved hastily in her swearing mouth could quieten.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you spend New Year's?” Eve asks as she joins her in the kitchen, heading straight to the fridge. “Get up to anything fun?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Villanelle leans back against the island, “I shoved a firework as far as it would go up a man’s you know what, and then lit it. Oh, and I had an incredible vintage Dom Perignon from 2008.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve stares at her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Villanelle shrugs. “Relax, he was already dead when I lit the firework, a simple garrotting job. The firework was because I’d already had three glasses of the champagne and was feeling a bit silly.” And then she winks at Eve like she’s telling a quirky anecdote.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which Eve supposes she is. It’s just a… Villanelle brand anecdote.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She moves on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well, I spent it inside getting drunk on gin and watching movies from the 90s.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve expects Villanelle to scoff a little or roll her eyes, not sigh wistfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that sounds nice.” She says honestly. “I wish I could have been here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She only fights with herself for a few seconds, a battle of ‘keep your cards close to your chest’ and ‘throw those cards who gives a shit about the cards get rid of the cards’ going on in her head momentarily. But since Winter Wonderland, they’re somewhere new, somewhere more open. It’s taken Eve a little while and a lot of wine to get used to the idea of being more honest with her feelings, but she’s getting there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And so, she says “I wish that too”, and privately delights in the way Villanelle’s face lights up like a firewo-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No. No firework metaphors.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, I am here for a very important reason.” Villanelle puts her hands on her hips and straightens up, pushing herself away from the counter, “I need your help.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My help?” Eve’s mind starts running a mile a minute. “What with? A… a kill? A plan? Is it.. are you in trouble? Do I need to hide or smuggle you, because I can do that, I have connections, I can get us somewhere safe and- let me go get my toothbrush-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Eve, what?” Villanelle laughs. “I will never come to you for any of those things, are you joking?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why?” Eve demands, feeling both rejected and offended.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because of this,” Villanelle waves her hand up and down to indicate Eve, “when you are panicked or pressured you are like a chicken without its head, you run run run and quack quack quack-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chickens don’t quack.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-and you are not chill at all. The danger excites you too much, I would end up doing all the work and you would crash at the end like a child after trick or treating. It would be the stabbing all over again; lots of screaming and flapping and tea towels.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve clamps her mouth shut at the mention of the stabbing. They never talk about it, it’s like they’ve decided it is better left unsaid. Villanelle doesn’t seem phased by it anymore, if the way her face remains unbothered now after mentioning it is anything to go by. In fact, Villanelle just looks amused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve huffs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not like a child.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you are, you are like a child who has had too much sugar.” Villanelle chuckles, and then she’s stepping into Eve’s space. “It is okay, I think it is cute.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she leans down and kisses Eve’s cheek, it’s sweet like Halloween candy. Eve tries not to smile too wide.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you of all people are calling me a child.” She mumbles through her smile, lips so close to Villanelle’s, but Villanelle just pats her once on the head and spins away. “So, besides teasing me and calling the kettle black, what is it you’re here for? What help do you need?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is Irina’s birthday tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Irina... that’s, is that Konstantin’s daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle nods happily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, she is going to be 13, can you believe that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean…” Eve starts, “I don’t know the kid, so, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it is a big deal and I cannot believe it.” Villanelle says as she heads to a plastic bag by the sink Eve hadn’t noticed. “It seems like only last year I kidnapped her and made her steal handbags for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> only last year.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, she is becoming a teenager and so she deserves a nice gift from her aunt Villanelle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does… does Irina even like you? After, y’know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle looks at Eve in bewilderment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course she likes me, we had so much fun together.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She saw a woman shoot herself in the head.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Character building.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Villanelle says again, throwing Eve a stern look, “I want to bake her a cake. Please will you help me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s… god, it’s so domestic. The question, the reasoning, the activity. It’s so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>wholesome</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t bake for shit.” Eve admits, rooted to the spot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me neither,” Villanelle smiles wickedly, “let’s get to work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is icing in her hair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you make the frosting first,” Eve laughs, half exasperated and half endeared, “it’s the last thing!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it is the best part.” Villanelle says around a mouthful of buttercream, “and I am hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, okay, just hand me the spoon will you?” Eve asks with her head over the mixing bowl. Should the sugar be mixing with the egg like that? Eve quickly scans the recipe on her phone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Which one.” Villanelle rummages through a drawer. “A big one or a small one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One for mixing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle hands her a potato masher.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For mixing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think people get turned on by baking?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle is sitting on the kitchen island, bowl cradled in her lap, potato masher in hand as she stirs the mixture. Eve hates to admit that Villanelle has stumbled upon something surprisingly genius as the masher whisks the cake batter perfectly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve stops from pouring wine to look at the other woman.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle’s tongue pokes out as she mixes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think there are people who find it sexy?” She asks simply. “Maybe they get hot when the ingredients get together.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve goes to argue, to tell Villanelle to not ask stupid questions, but some new part of her stops the words, the new part of her that seems more real than anything previous. Instead, she considers the question like she wants to, because she does want to. It’s freeing, being like this. Unapologetic. True to herself and the strangeness she knows she has.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there are people who get turned on by nappies, so.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Villanelle grimaces, “do not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But they do!” Eve laughs at her reaction. “So yeah, I think it’s safe to say on the wide, wide spectrum of human sexuality there is definitely ‘baking’ in there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle purses her lips in thought and pauses in mixing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be nice to lick this icing off your neck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve almost fumbles the wine bottle she’s holding as she puts it back in the fridge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I- uh…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe later, hm?” Villanelle quirks an eyebrow at Eve. “Once this cake is finished.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Eve-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, yeah.” She says softly. “Maybe later.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s quiet for a moment, just the sounds of Villanelle’s mixing and Eve placing a wine glass next to her to break the silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet bread makes people horny. So phallic.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve snorts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet you’re right.” She takes a sip of wine then puts on a smooth, sultry voice. “Make sure the dough is firm to the touch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Both Villanelle’s smile and eyes grow wide with excitement. She jumps down from the counter and pulls the cake tin towards her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha!” She laughs once. “Another, say another.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like mine golden,” she drawls, “with curves I can sink my teeth into.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oof,” Villanelle finishes pouring the batter into the tin and glances at Eve, “you are good at this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Villanelle hums as she leans down to put the cake tin into the oven. She closes the oven door with a triumphant thump then turns to face Eve fully. “I am starting to understand why people play with their food.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you know what they say when it comes to bread dough.” Eve shrugs, and Villanelle tilts her head curiously. “Push two fingers into it and if it’s ready it’ll bounce back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle’s mouth drops open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eve!” She gasps around a grin. “That is shameless! I did not know you were so good with words.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle steps slowly over until she stands only a few inches away, arm reaching around Eve to pick up her wine glass. Eve shivers at the closeness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When making dough, you should sometimes leave it overnight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Villanelle murmurs, eyes darting between Eve’s own and her lips, “I did not know you were into edging.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my god,” Eve sputters out alongside a laugh, breathless with the proximity and with the way that, somehow, talking about bread really has turned into… whatever this is. “Villanelle…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eve…?” Villanelle hums, and now she’s solely looking at Eve’s lips, the hand not holding her glass settling against Eve’s hip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re horny for bread, aren’t you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their noses nudge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am ready to admit,” Villanelle says just above a whisper, “that I may have a baking fetish, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You perv.” Eve chuckles lowly, and then she kisses her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle sighs into the touch, her lips soft against Eve’s, pliant, elastic. The sound of glass clinking against the counter is followed by Villanelle’s hand pushing into her hair, fingers tangling themselves deep in Eve’s curls and settling there, content to just hold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their lips meet again and again, making a pattern of altered angles and rosy prints. Eve reaches her hands up and touches her fingertips to Villanelle’s jawline, not cupping, just feeling, tracing the sharp edges gently as they move against each other. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle pushes closer at the touch, sighs again, grips Eve’s hip tight as she holds her against the counter. Eve makes a sound at the back of her throat, a soft grunt of appreciation that Villanelle swallows eagerly, reciprocated by kissing deeper, heavier, harder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The touch of Villanelle’s tongue to her bottom lip has Eve moaning softly and then Villanelle is there and Eve is matching her stroke for stroke, their mingled breathing thicker in the non-space between their mouths as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hand at her hip moves. Slides upwards. Drags the thick knit of Eve’s black jumper with it until Villanelle’s palm burns the skin of Eve’s side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After Winter Wonderland they’d ended up on the couch, Eve on top of Villanelle as they’d kissed for what felt like hours. At some point they’d lost their shirts but that was the extent of it, Villanelle’s hands had stayed respectfully at rib level, but the heat of their skin and the trails Villanelle created up and down her back were enough to cement in Eve’s mind that she wanted Villanelle, wanted what the blonde could give her, wanted what she could give the blonde.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hand on her side stills on her ribs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eve,” Villanelle murmurs against her lips, “just to be clear, it is you I am horny for, not the bread.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes I got that Villanelle thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle hums a little and Eve smiles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hand is still at her ribs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Vil?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can move your hand.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Villanelle says quickly and then suddenly the hand is gone, the hand is gone, why is the hand gone-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve finds it in the air moving away from her body, and clasps it tight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, idiot,” Eve huffs a laugh, “I meant…” she trails off and brings the hand back to her side, but higher. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle’s index finger rests against the underside of Eve’s bra, and everything is still. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Until it is not. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle’s hand slides upwards, slowly, slowly, under the jumper and under the T-shirt beneath, and Eve holds her breath as her palm settles warmly over her breast, her cotton bra the only barrier.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Villanelle squeezes, Eve breathes again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It comes out gasping. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle moans at the sound, the rush of air, and presses her lips hungrily to Eve’s as she squeezes again, hand firm and confident. Eve whimpers and slides her arms around Villanelle’s neck, her forearms resting on strong shoulders as they kiss and touch and then, then a thumb brushes over the hardened peak beneath her bra and Eve moans into Villanelle’s open mouth and-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how much time has passed, how long they’ve stood here, how long Villanelle has toyed with her through her bra, how long they’ve pressed hot, wet kisses into each other, until the timer goes off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shrill ring has them both jumping violently, Eve’s hand flying to her chest and Villanelle suddenly alert and searching until she realises where the sound came from. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” The blonde half groans, and Eve nods in agreement. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she sighs, “so, uh… cake’s ready.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, who cares.” Villanelle huffs. “This is much more interesting.” Her hand starts to inch its way beneath Eve’s jumper again but Eve clamps her own hand over it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You care. And Irina would too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even like her.” Villanelle says with wide eyes, but she steps away from Eve regardless. “Besides, it’s not like she’ll be eating it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay you do like her, don’t lie, you talk of her kidnapping like some fond vacation memory.” Villanelle smiles here and looks away, somewhat dreamily. Eve scoffs. “And why won’t she be eating it? I thought that was the point of cake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because she lives in Russia?” Villanelle gives Eve a look. “Duh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve pinches the bridge of her nose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why the fuck are we baking a cake, Villanelle!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I will take a picture of the cake, and of us eating the cake, and send it to her!” Villanelle shrugs. “To show her that we are celebrating for her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve drags the hand at her face away and studies Villanelle, emotion and arousal settling into something soft. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s actually very sweet.” Eve admits. “I’m sure she’ll love that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that is why I had the idea.” Villanelle says simply. “But anyway, seeing as you have clearly decided that you do not want to have kitchen sex with me-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t decide that-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-we will finish the cake instead.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle turns and stoops down to oven level, slowly opening the door and peering inside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? What does oh mean?” Eve tries to look over the woman’s shoulder. “Is it okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It looks a bit flat.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle grabs the oven mitt from above her head on the counter and pulls it on before carefully sliding the tin from the oven. She stands and turns, holding it in front of her and looking down at it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve joins her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm,” Eve says thoughtfully, “well. I’m sure it will taste nice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Irina will hate this, it looks terrible.” Villanelle says quietly, and Eve is surprised to hear a level of emotion in her voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t worry,” Eve comforts her, poking the pancake of a cake gently, “we can cover it in icing and disguise it! Plus, I’m pretty sure I have sprinkles here somewhere…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sprinkles?” Villanelle’s voice is loud and high pitched, delighted. “Yes!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve chuckles as she roots around in a cupboard, finding an old tupperware at the back full of random baking supplies leftover from two years or so ago, when Niko and his niece had made cupcakes. Eve grimaces at the little bottles of food colouring, probably well past their use by dates. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s just stick with the toppings,” Eve says as she places the tub on the counter, “the liquids make me nervous.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle is immediately beside her, digging through the small tub and grabbing every tube that shakes. She scatters them across the counter and starts putting them into groups. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Eve laughs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Organising.” Villanelle mumbles, her accent curling around the word in a way that makes Eve smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So that I know where I am reaching when making my masterpiece.” Villanelle’s answer is distracted, so Eve simply grabs one of Villanelle’s hands and drops a kiss to the knuckles. The blonde looks at her quickly with surprised eyes, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll sort the cake.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve gets the tin and carefully slides the cake out and onto a cooling rack. It doesn’t look… </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad. It’s flat, yes, and it doesn’t smell like what Eve expects a cake to smell like freshly baked, but the colour is a gorgeous golden brown and the sponge is relatively springy, despite its… density.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we can save this, y’know.” Eve says aloud. “With frosting and sprinkles, this could turn out pretty damn good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And glitter.” Villanelle pipes up from behind her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And glitter.” Eve nods. She fans the cake with her hands, trying to speed up the cooling process. This is always the worst part, she thinks, waiting for food to cool enough to either eat it or prep it. She has no patience for it, resulting in many a burnt tongue and ruined meal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it ready?” Villanelle asks, appearing by Eve’s shoulder and peering down at the cake. “Can I decorate it yet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We probably shouldn’t…” Eve says. Villanelle hums in agreement, then after a moment joins Eve in flapping her hands over the dessert. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thirty seconds later, Eve realises that she and Villanelle are just standing there, side by side, waving their hands over a cake in complete silence. God. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is dumb,” she sighs, “let’s just ice it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The punch Villanelle gives the air in victory makes Eve laugh. Cooling wrack and cake held firmly, Villanelle heads over to the island where her frosting station has been meticulously laid out, much to Eve’s amusement, and then she begins to scoop the icing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Great globs of fluffy white buttercream get spooned onto the cake where it immediately starts to melt, though Villanelle doesn’t seem to mind. Eve leans on the island, forearms pressed against the tile as she watches Villanelle bring the spoon to her mouth. Her pink tongue darts out to taste, then the blonde hums, nods, and puts the same spoon back into the bowl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve sighs alongside a chuckle. This woman kills for a living and she now has icing on her nose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you going to decorate it?” She asks Villanelle. The blonde waggles her eyebrows but doesn’t take her eyes off the cake before her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excellently.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve momentarily drops her head before looking back up at Villanelle’s side profile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, of course.” Eve says in a serious voice. “Can’t wait to watch the master at work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And work she does. Villanelle spreads the frosting across every available cake surface, uneven and lumpy but with an enthusiasm that Eve can only admire. Sprinkles are next, the first batch blue and green and finished with silver. Eve straightens to peer at the top of the cake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh wow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is the earth.” Villanelle tells her. “See? The green and the blue? The silver is the snow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, yeah, I see it.” Eve tells her, smiling. “It looks awesome. What’s next? Can I help?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle looks unsure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Eve says at the look. “Come on! I have a steady hand. I’ll do what you tell me to do, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle smirks at that and opens her mouth, but Eve cuts off whatever innuendo was bound to leave it by smearing some icing onto her lips. Villanelle frowns, but licks away the cream while staring at Eve. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, you can help.” She takes a little bottle of pink paper flowers. “Stick these onto the green bits you know have flowers, not the deserts and-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Flowers grow in the deserts.” Eve tells her, and Villanelle rolls her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, ma’am, then stick the flowers where daisies grow, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve scrunches up her nose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you just call me ma’am?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to help or not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It is… some kind of masterpiece. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think she will like it?” Villanelle asks her as they stare at the finished cake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll love it.” Eve says, half convinced. “Especially her name, how you spelled ‘Irina’ with the star sprinkles, very creative.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is because she is a star.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve purses her lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god that was adorable.” She says, leaning her head on Villanelle’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am adorable, yes.” Villanelle agrees with a nod. “Okay, let's take a picture.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle slides her phone from her pocket and holds it over the cake, trying to get a good angle. She huffs, apparently disappointed with the turnout.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eve, get on the counter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please Eve this is very important,” Villanelle begs, “don't you want me to do this sweet, sweet thing that humanises me in the way you so crave?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve stares at her, deadpan expression in place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an ass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh, but it worked didn’t it.” Villanelle flashes a grin. “Get on the counter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The huffing and puffing is all for show as Eve clambers onto the island counter, kneeling carefully above the cake and grabbing Villanelle’s phone from her hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, now get it perfectly in the middle of the frame… is it in the middle? Eve?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, let me concentrate.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Communication is key, Eve,” Villanelle says, “talk to me. Is it in the m-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes it’s in the middle, I’m not an idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Villanelle says in a voice that implies that yes, she is an idiot, and Eve glares at her. “Just… make sure it is perfectly central, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard to make something that isn’t a circle perfectly central, Vil.” Eve says in a strained voice as she holds still to take several photos, “this thing is a freaky shape.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Blame the oven.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your frosting skills are the only thing to blame here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eve says as she climbs back down, handing the phone over and brushing her knees of flour and rogue sprinkles. “How is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It will do.” Villanelle sighs dramatically, grunting when Eve pokes her in the side playfully. “Now, we must try it! I will take a photo of us eating it. Get a knife.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve dismisses the fact that she’s being ordered around in her own kitchen because honestly, seeing Villanelle this focussed on something so damn cute is enough for Eve. She fetches a knife, two forks and two small plates and hands them over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With precision best left for cakes that actually look like cakes, Villanelle cuts two neat slices and loads them onto the plates. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she says, handing Eve her fork and plate, “get a forkful.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve does as she’s told. She loads a creamy lump of cake onto her fork and tries not to eye the weird looking interior of the sponge too suspiciously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Done. Ready?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ready.” Villanelle says with her own fork weighed down with considerably more cake and frosting. She holds up her phone and positions it to take a selfie. “And… eat!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both shove the cake into their mouths, and chew once.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve immediately opens her mouth back up and let’s the cake fall from it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my god.” She manages as she scrapes cake from her tongue. “What… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span> my god.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve looks at Villanelle to find her frowning and chewing furiously, face turning more red by the second. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Villanelle, what are you doing!” She laughs, concerned but unable to stop the bark of laughter. “It tastes horrible, spit it out!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is fine.” Villanelle mumbles around her mouthful. Eve snorts and downs her wine, chasing the vile taste away with the sharp tones of grape. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did we… what did we do?” She asks herself exasperatedly, heading over to the ingredients. “What did we- oh my god.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She picks up the bag of ‘sugar’.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Villanelle, you added </span>
  <em>
    <span>salt</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of sugar!” Eve can’t control the laughter now, it bubbles over. “How did you manage that!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle turns in surprise and stares between Eve and the salt. She storms over, cheeks bulging and eyes watering as she takes the bag and scans it. Her eyes close briefly and she stops chewing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ew, oh come on,” Eve sighs in frustration as Villanelle spits the cake onto the floor. “The sink is right there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle ignores her and continues to spit before grabbing her own wine and taking measured sips in between deep breaths. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was disgusting.” She says finally, grimacing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you said it was fine?” Eve smirks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you said it was fine.” Villanelle mimics in a high pitched voice which Eve laughs at, gleefully, before walking over to Villanelle. The blonde has her hands on her hips, but the phone is still gripped in one. Eve takes it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s see the pic-” Eve stops, staring at Villanelle’s phone background. “Is that me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle snatches it back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t look at my phone, it is private.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh,” Eve grabs Villanelle’s wrist and angles the phone back towards her, the blonde not putting up much of a fight, “that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. That’s at Winter Wonderland, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The screen shows the back of Eve, a few steps ahead of the camera, hair large and blocking most of her side profile as she turns to look at a stall. The lights in the background are twinkling and there are rides and food carts but the focus is solely on Eve.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Vil…” Eve says with a shy smile, “you sap.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it, it is a nice picture, I am very good at picture taking.” Villanelle mumbles, twisting her arm back and unlocking the phone. She click about for a second, then snorts a laugh. “Oh dear.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me see.” Eve laughs at the expression on Villanelle’s face, “let me- oh Jesus.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The photo is Eve with her mouth open, cake mid-falling from her mouth, icing on her lips and eyes shut, next to Villanelle who stares unfocused, eyes wide and alarmed, lips pursed. The icing is still on her nose. Eve looks at the real Villanelle, who is rubbing at her nose in annoyance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That is an awful photo.” Eve grins, letting go of Villanelle, but the blond hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her close. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I am going to frame it.” She declares, chucking the phone onto the counter and putting her hand in Eve’s curls. “Ew.” She frowns and pulls her hand away, shows the icing on her fingers to Eve. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had frosting in my hair?” Eve says exasperatedly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t.” Villanelle says innocently. “Now you do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve drops her forehead to Villanelle’s chin with a grunt. “You are a fiend.” She tells her, but there’s no malice in her voice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stay there for a few minutes, Villanelle’s arms around her, holding her, and Eve’s palms resting softly on Villanelle’s shoulders. It’s nice. Calm. Content. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Some dough sweats if you leave it long enough.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve snorts into the warm skin of Villanelle’s neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re back on the bread thing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It really did it for you before.” Villanelle shrugs, before tilting Eve’s face up with a soft finger under her chin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm, pretty sure it was you with the hots for bread.” Eve says quietly, watching as Villanelle’s eyes dip down to her lips. “Want me to make a pun about yeast?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde shakes her head slightly, then smiles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not </span>
  <em>
    <span>knead</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to keep making bread puns, Eve.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh honey, that was good.” Eve chuckles softly into the space between their lips. “You’re right, I do like it. Talk bread to me.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Listen. I wrote this in less than 24 hours, and that includes me sleeping and working an eight and a half hour shift. If it is ridiculous it is because 1) timing, and 2) Cat is also very ridiculous. Happy birthday gooby.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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